A moment later, there was a movement in the group round the door which led to the card-room, and Mrs. Van Santen, closely guarded by two constables, came in. At the sight of the two girls, she ran forward and would have thrown herself on Delia’s neck, with a smothered sob and a cry of “My daughter!” but Delia avoided her embrace and said shortly—
“Oh, we’ve had enough of this. We’re going to tell the truth, all that we know. Our contract’s ended now, and we must save ourselves.”
Mrs. Van Santen at once became a changed woman. The sweet look of tenderness with which she had flown towards Delia altered to a hard expression of anger and resentment, as she stopped short and putting her head on one side, said—
“Say, have you given us all away, then?”
“No,” answered Delia shortly. “You have to thank those two card-sharpers in there for doing that.”
“Do you mean my sons?”
“No, you haven’t any sons,” retorted Delia, who seemed to take a sort of calm delight in making her confession as complete and as public as possible. “Those two men whom you call your sons are no more children of yours than they are brothers of ours. They’re just a pair of swindlers who don’t know how to swindle without being found out.”
She made this statement calmly, in a high, clear voice, not without a rather cleverly devised intention of being heard and applauded by the people present, including the police.
She was old enough to know that her share and that of the singing girl Cora, having been entirely passive and showy, rather than actively useful in the swindling practices carried on by their male confederates, the punishment in store for them could not be on the same plane as that earned by the men themselves.
And as for Mrs. Van Santen, why, she was old enough and experienced enough to look out for herself.